


the horrors that i promised you i'd bring

by madnessiseverything



Series: the pevensies as observed by others [5]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies), Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Zamonien | Zamonia - Walter Moers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, Implied Violence, Mild Blood, eerie Pevensies out and about, magic Pevensies, no knowledge of zamonia necessary to understanding, once again they deserve to unsettle other ppl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27655067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: Many say they are not human at all, merely looking the part from the outside. Others say that they can change forms to be most disconcerting to the onlookers. All agree that whatever they are, they seem to enjoy showing up to frighten both honest and deceitful Zamonians alike. None quite like the thought of that. Zamonia is full enough of frights without these humans making it their profession, after all.the one where the pevensies unsettle four decidedly shady characters.
Series: the pevensies as observed by others [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1919599
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	the horrors that i promised you i'd bring

**Author's Note:**

> how on earth did this come about, you might ask yourself. i have no idea. i was on tumblr, talking about how edmund and volzotan would hate each other, and suddenly i had written over 2k of the pevensies unsettling some of the less heroic among zamonian characters. it's definitely niche, but i don't think you need to have read any of zamonia to follow this story :D hope you enjoy these ramblings! 
> 
> (title from "the horror and the wild" by the amazing devil)

The myth spreads like this: 

-

Zoltep Zaan is screwing together a leg for the next soldier, blood staining his hands and sweat dripping into his eyes. Someone behind him lets out a yelp, and Zoltep glances about in surprise. A pointed finger soon guides him to look at a young human woman sitting in a tree. She looks down on him with a frown. Her feet swing above their heads and the carnage of the battle like she is used to such sights. Her dress is peculiar, though Zoltep doesn’t know much about human clothing. He hadn’t even known there were any humans left in these parts. He doesn’t like the judgement in her eyes, feeling oddly exposed.

Dropping his project to scramble to his feet, he glares up at her. “Oi! You can’t be here,” he growls. “This is a restricted area!” 

“It isn’t,” the human replies with a melodious voice, shaking her head. Zoltep bristles at the dismissal. “Though I suppose it ought to be, with this affront to nature.” 

Zoltep is immediately furious. “Now listen here, we are creating life from senseless death! It is the greatest of sciences!” He is not one of the most acclaimed alchemists in all of Zamonia only to be talked down to like this, and by an outsider no less!

The girl swings her legs hard, pulling them up to the branch and wrapping her arms around them. She puts her chin on her knees and looks down at Zoltep. Behind him, Zoltep can hear his fellows continuing to work hesitantly. He doesn’t return to his work, too angry and the audacity of this _child,_ this _human_. 

“All you will do is create more senseless death, sir. There is no use in pretending otherwise with me. This will bring horrid carnage, and you will be the only one to blame.” 

Zoltep has half a mind to climb up the tree to drag her down and away. “You know not what you say, human! Look around!” He flings out his arms to indicate the mutilated Zamonians spread out every which way. “The world has plenty of gruesome violence without our interference; they can hardly claim moral high ground!” 

“And yet they did not try to sidestep death itself, did they, sir? After all, they are well and truly dead now.” 

“Not all of them,” Zoltep hisses and turns away to his project. He will not take lectures of morality from a round-faced biped hardly of working age. The girl sighs but says no more. It takes a while for Zoltep to grow used to the feeling of her eyes following him through the motions. 

When they realise that they need to build a General, Zoltep dares a glance up into the tree. The girl is gone. Zoltep tries hard to be relieved instead of horrified. It doesn’t quite work, and the fear of this unknown human potentially hiding anywhere in the woods is almost enough to make his hands shake when he places the Zamomin. Much later, when he flees from the slaughter brought on by their own creations, he thinks he sees a glimpse of the human in the woods. She shakes her head at him, and Zoltep hates her so very much.

-

Volzotan Smeik is shuffling a card deck for a game of Rumo, nodding his head at a regular passing by him with an off-hand greeting. There is some movement from across the table and Volzotan looks up to find a young human man looking back at him. His hands are folded on the tabletop with the ease of a regular customer. His eyes are sharp. 

“Evening,” Volzotan says. The human dips his head in response. Volzotan doesn’t think he’s seen humans in quite some time. This one looks to be the thin, pale sort. The sort Volzotan can easily read on even his worst days. 

But this human’s face is empty of words Volzotan understands. His fingers twitch on the cards. No, he thinks to himself, this can’t be. 

“Care for a round?” He asks to cover up his amateurish display. The human nods. 

“Though I’m afraid I don’t know this game.” 

Volzotan almost laughs. “Why you’ve sat at the right table, you have. Let me teach you Rumo, boy.” 

And so he does. He teaches him the ins and outs, the meaning of cards and their placement, how to turn the tide of the game. The boy is a quick learner, clever and witty in his remarks. He takes some time examining what Volzotan knows to be the Rumo card. Volzotan takes eager note of the twitch of the human’s lips as he places the card down and focuses back on Volzotan’s teachings. It’s the only glimpse Volzotan gets of whatever lives behind the poker face.

He doesn’t teach the human his own tricks, of course. He likes his job and certainly likes having his head attached to his body. And he doesn’t like this human. 

There is something off about him, Volzotan tells himself. That is why he cannot get a read on him, can’t quite dissect his demeanour. The human might not be a skilled Rumo player, but Volzotan can see him behind a chessboard, no doubt. There is calculation, tactics, a deep understanding of _something_ in impassive brown eyes. Something that feels like a threat. Volzotan doesn’t like it, not at all. He likes it fine when used by himself, but the way the human’s eyes pierce right through him? Dreadful.

The human doesn’t win, because of course, he doesn’t. This is Volzotan’s job, after all, a job he is quite good at. The man didn’t even know Rumo when he sat down; there was no way he could have won. Volzotan doesn’t understand why he is so relieved. But as the human concedes with grace and a rueful smile, Volzotan can’t shake the feeling that this creature got precisely what he wanted out of their exchange. Volzotan feels scrutinised, picked apart in a way only he should be able to do. He feels as though he has given up something to the calculated mind of an unknown enemy. He never even gets the human’s name.

When the human leaves with a polite nod and thank-you, Volzotan clenches his many fists and vows to find out what this boy had about him, what it was that made Volzotan feel so out of his depth in his own realm. He will find it if it takes him decades to learn. Time, after all, is something he has in abundance. 

-

Phistomefel Smeik has just doomed Colophonius to death in the catacombs and is now looking after his hive. The bees seem more alert than usual, and all too soon Phistomefel realises that a human woman is wandering the streets. Her eyes are too intelligent, her face open and gentle. Phistomefel dislikes her on sight. Not to mention the suspicion. 

He would not put it past Colophonius to have contrived a back-up plan. After all, it is what Phistomefel would have done in his stead. Thankfully, he has been equipped with much better tools than the blasted book hunter. 

“Hello!” He says, bright and friendly. The woman turns and looks at him with a smile. He doesn’t trust it. “What brings a human into these parts of Bookholm? It is hardly human-friendly.” Not to mention the rarity of humans in general.

The human tilts her head. “Oh, is it not? I’ve found it rather inviting thus far.” 

Phistomefel definitely does not like her. “I am glad. It is quite a lovely place to live.” Her eyes linger too long on the door behind him. He sighs. Another obstacle. “I presume you are here for the antique dealers?” 

“Oh, quite. I’ve been told there are some truly ancient tomes to peruse. I hope I’ve not walked into private property?” 

“Not at all, you are most welcome. I have quite the collection, if I may be so bold. Would you care to browse some of the oldest books this city has to offer?” It’s almost too easy to get people into his hands these days, Phistomefel thinks. 

His confidence doesn’t last long. There is something in the way this human moves around his shop that makes him regret letting her in. There is elegance, years of experience in every step she takes. Her eyes belie the easy smile she still has on her face. He needs to act quickly. “I don’t suppose you have any books detailing catacomb stories, kind sir?” Very quickly. 

“Ah, an adventurous soul. I might have just the thing for you. If you will follow me?” 

Her strides are soft, yet confident as he leads her deeper into his house. Paranoia creeps in with every step he lets her take. Will she discover something he overlooked? Will she ruin everything he has worked so hard for? Is it getting too warm for his books in here? No, he tells himself, of course not. She is just a curious human, nothing more. He will let her read his toxin book, and call up Claudio to help him dispose of her. This is hardly worth the fear. 

Suddenly, the steps behind him cease. Phistomefel turns a little too fast, and his racing heart nearly leaps out of his chest. The human is gone. His desperate attempts at curbing his paranoia are overrun at once, and panic makes him run from one corner of his house to the other. He overturns boxes, shoves aside which shelves he can manage to move. She is gone. 

Phistomefel makes sure to barricade the way to the catacombs. His paranoia follows his every step for months.

-

Friftar is leaning on the balustrade of the king’s balcony, overlooking the crowds at the Theatre of Death. Next to him, Gaunab is muttering excitedly about tonight’s matches. Then, the gate in the arena opens, and Friftar stares down at the human man walking into his theatre. His shoulders are straight, but there is little tension in his frame - a sight unknown to the Theatre of Death. Friftar is immediately on guard. 

He knows all their fighters, of course. He has to if he intends to have things under control and keep the king pacified. But this _human_ , a creature absolutely unheard of in the masses of Hel, is new to him. Friftar does not like this fact.

Gaunab peers down with a furrow in his brow, and Friftar rushes to try and assure his erratic king of the beauty of tonight’s spectacle. Putting aside all his suspicions of an unknown fighter, it’s evident that this human is no arrow fodder. 

The king grins before Friftar has even spoken a word. Bloodlust and excitement sweep over the cruel twist in his features like a riptide, the mood change as fast as usual. Friftar looks back down in the arena, tapping his fingers against his arms. Something has excited his majesty. 

It doesn’t take long to realise what about this new fighter has put a temporary pause on the regal fury. The human commands the crowd’s attention with expertise, standing straight, gripping a fierce-looking sword and looking very much at home. Friftar’s tapping speeds up. Something isn’t right, he thinks to himself. Not right at all. 

The meek opponent is nothing compared to the way the human seems to take up the entire arena by himself. Of course, this opponent had been chosen for someone else entirely. Friftar, with a glance at the sudden tremble of fury running through the king, hastily turns away. He has to up the stakes.

“Bring out five others,” he hisses. “I told you as much!” He had said no such thing, but the king is shifting on his throne, and Friftar is not ready for this yet. He doesn’t relax until the human is facing down enough foes to curb that horrid regal posture of his. 

“It will be most bloody, Your Majesty,” he reassures and the king cackles, standing up to press his hands down on the balustrade. Soon enough, Friftar gets to call for the fight to begin.

Indeed, the king’s excitement at the human’s appearance was warranted. Friftar feels fear creep up his spine as he watches the masterful strokes of a sword, the graceful back and forth, the spray of blood drawing a curved line onto the arena’s floor. The king is jumping up and down, yelling, laughing, pounding his fists. 

It’s a beautiful display, and the crowd goes wild when the human stands victorious. Friftar, barely managing to listen to the king’s mad ramblings, stares down at the human. Clear blue eyes lock onto his and Friftar’s claws dig into his forearm. There is defiance, accusation, and a promise in that glance. Friftar feels control slipping through his fingers like sand. There is no mistaking that something has shifted, and Friftar is so very afraid.

-

And so the myth begins, both in Overworld and Underworld. A myth, of strange humans, stranger than the few humans that yet exist in Zamonia. Many say they are not human at all, merely looking the part from the outside. Others say that they can change forms to be most disconcerting to the onlookers. Friftar, mind you, pays little attention to what this creature is, and is instead scrambling to retain control. All agree that whatever they are, they seem to enjoy showing up to frighten both honest and deceitful Zamonians alike. None quite like the thought of that. Zamonia is full enough of frights without these humans making it their profession, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> i will say that i was quite happy about the symmetry of putting susan and edmund onto the task of creating paranoia and facing down schemers, while lucy and peter got to hang out in places of mass death! :P
> 
> i have a [narnia tumblr](https://bloodybigwardrobe.tumblr.com/) and am also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/notanycritter), feel free to come and chat with me! <3


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